Evening Observations
by Watcher of the Stars
Summary: As unrefined as the pun my have been, Watson could not help but to agree with the observation. He showed his concurrence by burying his mouth into the crook of his arm and joined Holmes in the attempt to smoother his merriment.


**Author's Note:** Why did this story take so long to get up? To be honest, it's been written for weeks. Hand written. Yes, I am one of those old timeys who still manually pens their work. Not only is my project portable, but I also tend to write better when scribbling it down by hand. Anyway, I wrote it and then lost page one. Organization fail. However, page one has been located, and thus you now have a story.

Also, if you read and reviewed "Never Is A Promise," I would like to thank you profusely. I've gotten the nicest, sweetest comments on the story, and it's very encouraging. I'm fairly sure this fandom is one of the most talented and welcoming I've ever witnessed.

By the way, **_this story is not as typical the cliched beginning eludes._** I promise. It's very unbeta'd. Again. Forgive mistakes.

This is set pre-movie. Enjoy!

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"We have one room left with a single, however I have to confess I'm rather reluctant to hand it over to you, as we have a rather prestigious guest in the room to the next. The lady specifically requested utter silence during her stay, and I am sworn to acquiesce her."

Watson dragged a hand down the front of his face in an exhausted manner. A case had dragged the pair to the outskirts of the country, and after its resolve, he had determined the night was far too progressed to even begin the day journey home to London. A rest was in order, though Holmes protested he rarely needed "such a thing" and made it clear that only for the sake of the good doctor were they pausing in their trip. Watson did not mention Holmes' half-asleep demeanor again.

Just as they finally located an inn, its keeper relied them with a protest about some prissy guest who requested absolute, inhuman silence in order that they may acquire her proper beauty sleep. Though Watson was known to be a gentleman of the highest order, at the present moment he found himself not even remotely caring about whether or not the lady was roused from her slumber. He just wanted a bed.

"My dear sir, my companion and I promise to be quiet. We merely wish to rest ourselves for the night. We're experienced a taxing ordeal and will mostly likely be asleep within the first moment of settling in the room, as we cannot keep our lids open much longer. Please, sir, we will not make a sound."

Holmes arched an eyebrow at the speech and mutter only loud enough for Watson to hear, "Good Lord, man, it sounds like you're begging."

Watson brushed the comment off, but his patience was growing frail with strain.

"I-" The inn keeper faltered, and Watson leaned in with anticipation. "I suppose I could spare the room."

A tired smile bursted forth on the doctor's lips as a key brass he was handed to him, "Thank you very kindly, sir."

Watson trudged down the hall, a sleepy Holmes whining the whole walk, much like a child who had missed their nap or supper. He also protested. Loudly. The doctor had to shush him, the action recalling the clause of their stay. Holmes continued his rant at a softer tone, and still kept on after they had arrived at their rented room and began shrugging off jackets, waste coats, and braces.

Long-suffering as he always was, Watson bore Holmes' complaints with the patience of an elderly nun, only occasionally offering half-hearted replies to his friend's annoyed rebuttals to stopping for the night. He was about to address the issue of who would be slumbering in the bed and who got banished to the floor, when he looked over his shoulder to find that Holmes had managed to hunt down an extra quilt (from where, Watson had no idea, but that certainly was not a surprise) and was camped out on the rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

Usually, Watson would have nagged his friend about how he was going to award himself with horrid cramps by pillowing his head with only his arm, but Watson's spent body was causing a selfish streak, and all he wanted was a soft bed.

Slipping in between the sheets, Watson stretched his aching leg, reveling in the simultaneous experiences of relief and pain. Sleep was heavy upon him, tugging on his eyelids. In the back of his mind, he heard Holmes' restless shuffling, but it seemed a very long way off. It was only pure reflexes and the shock of a sudden flood of icy air that snapped him into holding onto the blankets before they were snatched from his body.

"Bloody hell-" He hissed.

Watson peered over the edge of the bed to glare at the fiend who was none too stealthily attempting to steal his covers. Holmes was on the floor, clutching firmly at the blanket – Watson's opponent in this tug-of-war.

"Good Lord," Holmes said in a loud whisper, "There's no need to curse in this situation. You must have gained a fouler mouth from the military than I had originally thought."

"Holmes! Would you released my blankets! Can you not be a civil individual for one moment," Watson bit back hoarsely, constantly reminding himself the agreement of their stay was pending on the level of noise generated.

"It is difficult to be civil when one is cold. Now relinquish your hold and let me have the quilt," Holmes said, still pulling the cover taunt between himself and Watson.

"You have one already!"

"True, however, you already have the bed and a sheet, therefore it would only be just that I have two quilts, since I have gallantly taken on the floor as my place of rest," Holmes reasoned.

"You have the rug! And when is it just when you discharge firearms into our walls at indecent hours? And when is-"

Watson's harshly whispered rant was cut off by a swift yank from Holmes, and with the cover clutched tightly between Watson's fingers, the pull caused him to go tumbling off the bed, and collide with the floor with a solid _crack._ He stared at Holmes, who was now eye level, a horrified expression blooming on his face as the noise went echoing down the hall. With each echo the fact that they were suppose to remain absolute silent was driven in harder and harder.

Evidently, Holmes had recalled the same information, as he now stayed completely still, merely blinking at the doctor. They both held their breaths, sending up silent prayers to heaven no one would be awakened by the sound. Their prayers were, unfortunately, unanswered.

There was a very bizarre sound of a woman squawking in outrage. Watson imagined she must have been a large, plump lady to make such a guttural noise. Shortly following the cry of anger, was the slapping pitter-patter of the innkeepers bare feet on the hardwood. And then the bereavement of his person by the woman could be heard quite clearly.

Watson heard an indignant snort from beside him and then muffled laughter. He glanced by towards Holmes to find the man was desperately trying to stifle his mirth in the quilt he had tried to lift.

"Why are you laughing? We could get thrown out of this establishment because of you!"

"Sorry, old boy, it is only...the woman's voice rather reminds me of the sound of a goose or hen. I- I do not believe I've ever heard a set of vocal chords quite so foul."

As unrefined as the pun my have been, Watson could not help but to agree with the observation. He showed his concurrence by burying his mouth into the crook of his arm and joined Holmes in the attempt to smoother his merriment. After harnessing control, the woman wailed once more, and again the two bursted out like school boys.

The sound of the innkeepers footsteps to their silenced their frivolity as the pair rushed to attain their previous positions with a string of half snickered curses. They clamored to their respective sleeping places just in time for the owner to come knocking upon the room's door. Holmes, the thespian as he ever was, answered the call, pulling a flawlessly believable charade of a man roused from slumber only a few second earlier.

After a quick chat with the keeper, defending their innocence with a story about how they too were awaken by the sounds, the detective learned against the now closed door chuckling. And even with his quick reflexes, he only barely dodged the pillow hurled by Watson. The man had a suburb aim, even in the dark. Scooping up the pillow, Holmes strutted back to his spot on the floor as the doctor complained, "You are such a child at times."

Silence thickened the atmosphere in the room as Watson began settle. He then noticed something was missing.

"Holmes, return my pillow."

"My dear boy, you have forfeit your pillow to me via trajectory towards my person. Your ammunition is now being use for my comfort. I let you keep your quilt in any case."

Watson sighed deeply, but found himself smiling into the mattress.

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Should I label this under humour? I'm unsure. Tell me when you reveiw please.


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